


Special Delivery

by wiski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Derek Hale, Delivery Person Stiles Stilinski, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Sex Toys, Shy Derek, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-18 12:40:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13100316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wiski/pseuds/wiski
Summary: Someone sends Derek an...unusual package. Stiles is the mailman who delivers it.[Eternalsterek Secret Santa 2017]





	Special Delivery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Julibean19](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julibean19/gifts).



> This is a Eternalsterek Secret Santa gift for tumblr user aflailureandamasterpiece.
> 
> Hello, aflailureandamasterpiece. I'm so glad I was able to complete your gift in time for Christmas! This was my first fic exchange and I guess I floundered a bit. I, er, never quite got around to asking you for your preferences and wrote this (loosely) based on the "wants" list that the mod sent me. I hope there is at least some stuff to your liking in here!
> 
> This is...long (for me anyway). I had planned on 2-3k, possibly 4, but it didn't really work out that way. (HAH.) It was a helluva challenge for me to write but I had a lot of fun despite all the stress, and I'm grateful for this opportunity to try my hand at smut again. Smut is not a particular strength of mine, but it was good for me to venture out of my comfort zone now and then. Hopefully I didn't screw up too badly here.
> 
> Happy Holidays, and hope you enjoy!!

Stiles had known exactly what was in the little package the moment he first laid eyes on it back at the pick-up facility.

The package itself was innocuous—by deliberate design, of course, because any sex toy company worth their salt could do discretion like nobody’s business. But Stiles was a loyal customer of that particular sex toy site—he got his absolute favorite toy there! —and had ordered from them enough times to be able to recognize that particular nondescript off-white packaging on sight. He didn’t even have to check the return address. And to Stiles, with his exhaustive knowledge of the store’s full range of goods from hours upon hours of obsessive browsing, the small size and shape of the package were pretty good tip-offs as to the particular model of the toy contained within. After all, Stiles had a rather intimate knowledge of most of the store’s wares.

“Oh, someone is about to have a _very_ good time,” Stiles muttered to himself, reminiscing with a little frisson of pleasure at the base of his spine of his own good times with the little bullet-shaped vibrator.

It was then that the recipient’s name on the discreet little address label registered. He nearly dropped the box, fingers gone nerveless as all the blood in his body rushed southwards at the deliciously filthy mental images that his brains immediately started conjuring.

**_“Derek Hale,”_ **

read the little sticker.

“Holy. _Shit_ ,” Stiles breathed reverently, his mind blown.

*

Derek Hale, of 424 Forest Drive, instantly became the highlight of Stiles’s delivery route the day he moved into the small house tucked away behind its screen of tall birches and oaks at the end of the drive.

The first time Stiles visited 424 Forest Drive for a delivery, there were still piles of discarded packing supplies and old furniture piled on the porch. The house—cabin, really—had sat empty and forlorn for years, huddled sadly at the back of Forest Drive, and Stiles was glad to see that the beautiful little house could be a real home again.

Stiles had been hefting the last of three large, heavy cardboard boxes (addressed to D. Hale from a T. Hale with a northern Californian postal code) up the porch steps when the front door opened and he was greeted with a vision of a man, bewilderingly attractive in a frumpy grandpa sweater and nerdy glasses with thick black frames. No, an _Adonis_ , Stiles amended. No mere mortal could look that good while wearing basketball shorts with fucking _knee socks_ , what the fuck. The luscious perfection of that beard and those _shoulders_ that the lumpy oversized sweater utterly failed to disguise were almost definitely some sort of divine creation.

Stiles managed to pull himself together with inhuman effort and proceeded with his usual spiel to new potential regulars on his route. Names (“Derek.” “Stiles.” “…Really?” “My first name is classified info.” “…If you say so.”) and handshakes were exchanged, and then they’d made awkward small talk on the tiny patio while Derek signed for the packages, made more awkward by the way Stiles’s eyes and thoughts kept wandering inappropriately.

Derek politely declined Stiles’s offer to help carry the boxes inside and hefted all three up together by himself with enviable ease, shoulder and back muscles bunching and shifting under the horribly misshapen sweater. Stiles realized he was staring with his mouth hanging open and maybe drooling a little, and beat a hasty retreat, dragging his lingering gaze away from the frankly exceptional back view with difficulty.

Stiles thought he’d made a colossal fool of himself, what with the constant staring and the weird pauses and the stilted conversation, and had probably scared Derek off, but on his next delivery to 424 Forest Drive, Derek was a little less aloof and actually tried to initiate a conversation, so Stiles figured he was okay.

Eventually Stiles figured out that Derek was just very, very shy and, amazingly, even more socially inept than Stiles himself. Being a writer and editor (and a bit of a hermit), Derek worked almost exclusively from home, and relied heavily on deliveries, making him one of Stiles’s most regular customers. They’d slowly become sort-of buddies, the kind who hung out when they run into each other, with in-jokes, a good rapport, and because they were both still five-year-old little boys at heart, a ridiculously complicated secret handshake.

And they maybe, _possibly_ , flirted a little, but Stiles refused to get ahead of himself and make a fool of himself. (Again.)

*

It was a long few minutes before Stiles managed to get a grip (not literally, much to his regret) on himself and his rampant erection. He finished loading up and checking his assignments and started on his usual route, saving 424 Forest Drive for last.

He held his breath as he waited for Derek to come to the door, the little package tucked safely under one arm. Derek seemed to take a lot longer than usual, and Stiles had started to fidget on his feet by the time the door creaked open a crack and Derek’s scruffy, bespectacled face squinted out at him.

After over two years of more or less weekly deliveries to 424 Forest Drive while their interactions gradually grew in length and friendliness, the sight of Derek’s perfect face still does funny things to Stiles’s insides.

“Derek! Hi! Delivery for you,” Stiles said in a singsong voice, waggling his eyebrows playfully. “Been waiting long?” He jiggled the box under his arm and threw in a lascivious wink for good measure.

The door swung open fully and Derek emerged, clad in another truly atrocious sweater, this one looking like it was possibly hand-knitted by someone very drunk, very hungover, or just very, very bad at knitting. Stiles eyeballed the dark curl of chest hair exposed by the unravelling collar and decided not to comment.

Derek was staring blankly at the parcel. His befuddlement was a bit baffling but adorable all the same. “But… I’m not expecting anything?” Derek eyed the proffered package doubtfully.

“Are you sure?” Stiles raised an eyebrow meaningfully.

“Yeah? I guess. I mean, I don’t know?” The puzzled scrunch of his eyebrows made him look slightly constipated, but Stiles still found him utterly delightful. He was rather a hopeless case, Stiles figured.

“Hmm. Well, Derek, do yourself a favor and don’t keep yourself waiting any longer,” Stiles handed the clipboard over with a shrug, and then waited with bated breath as Derek cast a final dubious look at the package before shrugging and tearing it open.

There was a brief moment of bewildered silence as Derek peered at the contents of the box. Derek poked warily through the layers of tissue paper, and then his face abruptly turned an alarming shade of red and he’d started sputtering.

“I— _what_ —is this actually— _oh my God_ —”

So Derek _hadn’t_ ordered the vibrator. Huh.

“Uh… You okay, Derek?” Stiles took a tentative step toward Derek, with the intention of maybe offering a reassuring pat on the arm—and he wasn’t thinking about feeling up those muscles (much) for once—but Derek was suddenly in his space and trying frantically to shove the package back into Stiles’s hands.

“Take it back.”

“Huh?” Stiles said intelligently, hands automatically closing around the package when it nearly took a tumble from Derek’s trembling fingers and almost getting clocked on the head for his trouble.

“Sorry. But take it back. _Please_.” There was a wild look in those mesmerizing heterochromatic eyes.

“But you already signed for it,” Stiles tried to give the package back, but it turned out that Derek could be obstinate as a mule when he put his mind to it.

“C’mon, you might like it,” Stiles wheedled.

“ _No_.”

They played an absurd game of mutual push-and-evade for a while and seemed at a stalemate until they both inevitably fumbled—there had been a brief accidental brush of fingers—and the package took a neat nosedive toward Derek’s cute paw-shaped doormat.

As they both watched, frozen, the package landed on its side and the little vibrator rolled out from the cushioned interior, stopping, as if in slow motion, to rest against the toe of Stiles’s left sneaker. The afternoon sun glinted off its smooth, shiny exterior, the tiny wicked protruding point at one end looking deceptively harmless out in broad daylight. It was inexplicably in a rather eye-searing purple leopard print. Not quite the color Stiles would’ve— _had_ —gone for (his was in nice plain silver chrome), but it was still an awesome vibe. Well, it’s not like the color mattered much once it was up…there, right?

He said as much to Derek.

Derek looked like he was about to have a stroke, his face was so red. His glasses had been knocked slightly askew. He still managed to look attractive, though, the lucky bastard.

A slip of paper fluttered out from the flap of the box, probably a gift message from the mysterious sender. Stiles bent to pick it up and tried to hand it to Derek, but Derek seemed to be in a trance of some sort, still frozen to the spot. He couldn’t help glancing down at the note.

“ ** _thought of u as soon as i saw this enjoy ;) xo peter_** ”, the little note proclaimed, grinning lewdly up at them both.

Man, that really put a damper on things. He probably _had_ imagined the flirting, then, Stiles thought gloomily, trying to ignore the sudden tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with the autumn chill.

“Boyfriend?” he asked, forcing a grin that was probably more of a grimace on his face. “Sorry, none of my business huh? Well I’ll be o—”

“It—it’s my uncle,” Derek choked out, his eyes still fixated on the floor, resolutely away from the purple little menace.

Stiles paused mid retreat, already half way down the porch steps. “Your _uncle_ sent you a _vibrator_?” He turned to stare at Derek. His eyes were probably as wide as saucers.

Derek went even redder. His mouth opened and shut a couple times soundlessly before he managed to grit out, “Uncle Peter has a very warped sense of humor.”

“Oh. All right, then.” Stiles hated himself a little at the huge surge of relief that rushed through him. “Well. I can’t say much for his style, but your uncle has good taste in sex toys, at least. This is a _really_ good one, trust me,” he couldn’t resist adding.

“Oh my God. Oh my _God_. _Why_.” Derek had curled in on himself, his face buried back in his hands, the picture of abject humiliation.

“No, but you should totally try it, it’s an awesome vibrator, honest!” It was suddenly imperative to Stiles that Derek experience the erotic thrills that this particular vibrator offered. He bent to pick it up, wiped the thing off a little on the hem of his shirt, and proffered it again in Derek’s direction.

“No. _Please_ , Stiles. You can have it or, I don’t care. Just, _no_ , Stiles, no,” Derek said in alarm, slowly backing away from Stiles and the vibrator. It would be funny if the poor dude hadn’t been so obviously upset.

“But I already have this one! Seriously, Derek, listen, dude, you gotta try this, it’s, like, for real the best bullet vibe I’ve ever had, and I have tried a _lot_ of vibes.”

Derek shook his head mutely, apparently at a loss for words.

“Well then, what’s the problem? Do you have an issue with sex toys? Are you, like, morally opposed to sex toys or something? Cause I guess I can respect that, but I gotta say, you’re missing out, man.” Stiles realized that he was babbling, and that Derek was shaking his head, though at least that seemed to be in response to Stiles’s question, instead of in despair at wrought by sex toy-bestowing uncles. Stiles decided to try a different tactic.

“Okay, so you don’t have a problem with sex toys.” Derek slowly shook his head. “Good to know. Just got a problem with this one in particular?” Nod. “Because it’s from your uncle?” Emphatic nod. This was starting to feel like Twenty Questions. “Okay then. So, hypothetically speaking, if you had gotten a sex toy in the mail that was in no way related to your uncle, would you have tried it?” Stiles batted his lashes at Derek and bit back a grin when Derek did not immediately shake his head, only shrugged a little and adjusted his glasses. “Would you have _considered_ trying it?” Derek was beginning to seem a bit beleaguered, but still he did not shake his head.

Now for the million-dollar question.

“This is still purely hypothetical, of course, but say if _I_ were to bring you a sex toy, like, tomorrow, would you try it?” Stiles bit his lip as Derek’s gaze immediately dropped to the ground again, those massive shoulders hunching almost up to his ridiculous little peanut ears.

After almost a full minute of watching Derek’s futile struggle for words, Stiles was about to give up and make a strategic exit when Derek burst out with, “ _but_ _I have never—!_ ” and then promptly turned to face the wall beside the front door and started making muffled noises of distress. His ears and neck were flushed.

“Uh.” Stiles had to work a bit to get his jaw working again. His mouth was suddenly drier than the Sahara Desert. “You have _never_ —? Right. I. Um. _Really_?” It was difficult to form any coherent thoughts because his brain seemed to have melted and dribbled out from his ears. Stiles made a valiant effort anyway. “Well. Bullet vibes are like the gateway vibe. Mostly—you just stick it up there, and uh, find your prostate, and then switch it on? The little hook there—” Derek made a sound like he was dying, so Stiles hurriedly switched tacks. “I—Just remember to stretch first and don’t skimp on lube. It’s easy, really.”

Derek whimpered.

Stiles sighed. “C’mon, man, it’s a sex toy, not a monster. I got my first vibrator when I was seventeen, it’s not a big deal.”

Derek turned a little and peeked back at him. Stiles smiled reassuringly.

“Granted, the thing with your uncle sending one to you is kind of weird, but you said yourself that your uncle just has an inappropriate sense of humor. I bet it’ll be hilarious if you just, like, casually thanked him for it at your next family gathering or something,”

This got a reluctant smile. Stiles pressed his advantage.

“Just…just think about it, okay? No pressure. If the uncle thing really squicks you too much, I can lend you mine, or we can just order a new one, okay? I even have a discount code.”

Derek turned around fully at last and looked at him helplessly.

Stiles took pity on him and grabbed his hand to write down his personal cell number on Derek’s wrist with his trusty Sharpie. He then put the vibrator in Derek’s limp fingers and patted his arm in encouragement. “Think about it. Feel free to call or text if you have any questions. Or if you want to talk. Or anything at all, really.” He checked himself at the overwhelmed expression on Derek’s face and tactfully made himself scarce.

*         

Stiles gave himself a stern talking-to as he climbed into his delivery truck. He swung a glance at the still motionless figure on Derek’s porch in his rearview mirror and forced himself to start the engine. He drove back and clocked out on autopilot, and went about his evening routine absolutely not checking his phone every five minutes.

He got through his shower (hot and long and _finally_ and not nearly enough), dinner (cold leftover pizza and beer), phone call to his dad, and was half-heartedly kicking Scott’s ass on Overwatch when his phone buzzed with a text. He nearly strangled himself with the cords of his headset in his hurry to reach for the phone, leaving poor Moira to a tragic end to the backdrop of tinny groans and obscenities from his team and Scott’s confused questions.

**I can’t do it, I tried, it’s too weird.**

Before his brain could even fully process implications of the message, the phone buzzed again in his hand, making him almost jump out of his skin.

**Can you come over**

The headset clattered unceremoniously to the floor.

*

Stiles practically had his entire toy chest packed up until he thought better of it and settled for just the vibe and his plainest, least intimidating dildo. He threw them in a knapsack along with lube, condoms, and a couple towels for good measure, agonized over what to wear for all of three seconds before, in a rush of optimism, opting for ease of access over aesthetics and just threw on a hoodie over his t-shirt and old sweats.

He probably broke some sort of land speed record driving over to Derek’s and miraculously did not kill anyone or get pulled over. He ignored all three of Scott’s calls—and had no compunction whatsoever about it, because payback’s a bitch, McCall—and resolutely did not think about Derek and how his aborted attempts with the vibe might have gone.

The front door of 424 Forest Drive opened when Stiles pulled up. Derek was a shadowy silhouette in the doorway, backlit by the ribbon of warm light that spilled from the house, silent and unmoving while Stiles grabbed his knapsack and clambered out of his jeep. He waited there, leaning against the door jamb, as Stiles let himself in through the latched gate, made the familiar trek through the garden, and slowly climbed up the creaking front stoop.

Stiles paused at the top of the steps. He was close enough to smell the wood and musk of Derek’s aftershave, but Derek’s face was hidden in the shadows.

A charged silence.

“Well. Here I am,” Stiles said when it seemed like Derek wasn’t going to make a move or break the silence.

Derek swallowed audibly. “Yeah. Uh. Thanks for…dropping by. And sorry if I interrupted—”

“No, don’t. I wanted to come, okay?” Stiles hurried to reassure, but the light from the house had him squinting and he couldn’t see Derek’s expression at all, making him feel more and more like an idiot.

The dark shape that was Derek shifted and ducked its head. Stiles was gearing up for a lame joke, something inane about creatures of the night lurking in the darkness, when Derek tilted his head slightly in invitation, and a sliver of light briefly limned the curve of his lips, a shy smile, faint but there all the same. Stiles’s breath left him in a rush. He bit his tongue and followed Derek in on slightly wobbly legs.

*

Stiles turned and leaned against the door until it clicked shut. Over two years and this was his first time being on the other side of this door. He took a deep breath, let it sink in, and watched Derek watch him from the other end of the entryway, eyes dark and intent, his posture almost perfectly mirroring Stiles. His hair was slightly damp from a recent shower, probably, and he wasn’t wearing his glasses. He _was_ wearing another one of his omnipresent sweaters, a very nice cashmere one this time, in a rich shade of dark green that brought out the green in his eyes. It looked velvet soft and molded to his body in all the right places. Stiles entertained a fleeting fantasy of trapping Derek there against the wall with his body, feeling him up all over and then slowly dragging that sweater off to have his wicked way with him, right there in the hall. The air around them was suddenly too hot and stifling.

Trying to diffuse the tension, Stiles broke eye contact to look around and spotted the half empty glass and the bottle of JD on a counter. “Liquid courage? Did it help with the…?” Stiles flailed a little, trying and failing to find a gesture that encompassed “using a vibrator for the first time”.

Derek looked down at his hands. “Uh. You want a drink? I had some whiskey, um, after talking to my sister. But I’m not drunk,” Derek added hastily. Stiles peered at him, but he did seem sober enough.

Stiles cleared his throat. “Okay, actually, yeah, I could use a beer.”

They relocated to the kitchen. Derek got them both beers, and they sipped them side by side, leaning against the kitchen counter with a polite ten inches of space between their elbows. Stiles looked at Derek sidelong, his eyes lingering on the way Derek’s lips wrapped around the mouth of the beer bottle, and then caught on Derek’s own gaze. They both looked away quickly. The silence curdled, turned awkward.

Stiles took another swill of his beer. “So. Chatting with your sister requires alcoholic fortification?”

“Laura is… She can be a little terrifying at times. Well. I actually called her today, after, ah, after you left,” Derek squirmed a little when Stiles perked up at that.

“Huh. Should I be concerned for my safety? I _am_ corrupting her brother, after all. She must think I have designs on your virtue. And she’d be right.” Stiles twisted to lean on one elbow and studied Derek’s profile. He seemed tense and a little discomfited, though Stiles was starting to think that that was due to self-consciousness and not distress.

Derek picked at label of his beer. “She was the one to suggest that I invite you over. And by ‘suggested’ I mean that she threatened to call you herself to tell you all my embarrassing childhood stories if I didn’t.” The smile Derek shot him was half humor, half fond exasperation.

Stiles snorted. “Huh. I think I might like this sister of yours.”

Derek chuckled. “Oh, I have three, and they’re all scary. The Hale women are legendary. My sisters, my mother, and my aunts will probably start harassing me about you tomorrow. I’m sure they will engineer some sort of meeting and you’ll meet them all soon enough,” Derek rolled his eyes, though his cheeks were turning a rather fetching shade of pink that was rapidly spreading under his dark stubble and over his whole face.

Stiles’s brain was stuck on the implication that there will be meeting of family in the near future.

“They don’t mind that this came about because of a sex toy sent by your uncle?”

Derek cringed, his face going from blushing pink to tomato red, and Stiles mentally face-palmed. Well, obviously Derek did not mention the part about the sex toy to his family. Another genius move, Stilinski.

“Right. About that.” Stiles sighed, put his beer down, and took a deep breath to compose himself. “Listen, Derek, I’m sorry I was such a pushy asshole to you this afternoon. I shouldn’t have assumed that you...well, I shouldn’t have made assumptions about something like that, and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It’s absolutely, completely, totally cool if you are uncomfortable or want to take your time with it. I don’t want to pressure you into something you’re not ready for. Just say the word and I’ll back off, no questions asked. I brought some… _stuff_ for you,” he nudged his knapsack with a foot, “and I can just leave them with you. Or, like, I can take them away and you will never see them again. That is also totally A-Okay. Also, you should know that I can be professional if you’re not interested in, like, more, I’m not a creep, I promise, I just really, really like you, and, and, oh yeah, I don’t actually come on to people on my route—”

Derek cut off the gush of anxious word vomit by grabbing Stiles’s face and planting a clumsy kiss that landed half on his teeth. Despite the somewhat shaky execution and the less than ideal location (there was something digging into Stiles’s back, probably the dish rack) and the babbling, it still ranked up there in Stiles’s top five kisses, because it was Derek, and Derek kissed him, and it was probably one of the greatest moments of Stiles’s life.

When Derek pulled away way too soon, he was looking anywhere but at Stiles and seemed to be intent on fleeing. Stiles grabbed his arm.

“Wait, wait, wait, Derek, what’s wrong?”

Derek muttered something about being a bad kisser, pulling half-heartedly against the hand on his arm and looking miserable and dismayed.

“Wow, I’ve never had that reaction to my kisses before, though I’ll admit that wasn’t my best performance.”

“I was talking about myself.” Derek looked even more mortified now.

Stiles pressed on loudly over him. “I mean, c’mon, I don’t think I got much of an opportunity to demonstrate my techniques just now, but I’ve honestly never had any complaints—”

“No, I was the bad kisser—”

“—and I’ve always been known to possess excellent kissing skills. I’ll have you know, I get compliments about my lips all the time,” Stiles finished haughtily, barely managing to keep a straight face at Derek’s clear exasperation.

“—for fuck’s sake, I wasn’t… talking about you,” said Derek, slowing, finally catching on. Stiles wondered what gave him away. Some of the exhilaration that suffused him must have shone through.

“Oh no, sir, now that you have besmirched my honor, I must restore my reputation as an awesome kisser immediately,” Stiles declared grandly, clutching at his bosom, and, quickly to forestall the punch in the arm Derek clearly had been about to give him, he pulled Derek into another kiss.

Of course their noses bumped painfully together this time around.

They were both wheezing with laughter as they clutched at their noses and each other. Fortunately there was no blood, and no serious injury to anything other than their dignity.

“Now I really must reestablish my reputation,” Stiles said when he caught his breath at last. “Can’t have you thinking I’m a subpar kisser.”

“Can’t have that,” Derek agreed, looking happy and flushed and tousled and eminently kissable.

“C’mere, you,” Stiles grabbed a handful of soft cashmere and pulled him close again.

After another faltering false start that set them both off in another giggle fit, they finally found a workable angle and their lips met at last in a smiling kiss that was everything Stiles had dreamt of in a first kiss. Derek’s mouth tasted sweet and smoky and a little beery. That should not have been a good combination, but Stiles found himself savoring it and licking deeper to get at the taste that was uniquely Derek.

“How was that?” Stiles asked breathlessly a minute later when they parted to get a little air.

“That was—adequate,” Derek said, equally breathless, a goofy grin firmly in place.

Stiles raised his eyebrows and bit his now slightly swollen lower lip. “Tough customer, huh. Guess I’ll just have to build a watertight case, then.” And he fisted both hands in Derek’s thick, curling hair like he’d been dying to do for so long, backed him into a wall or the fridge, he wasn’t sure which and couldn’t care less, and proceeded to do just that.

They made out for what felt like hours, franticly, then slowly, and then franticly again, like they couldn’t get enough of each other. In short order Derek had laid claim to all of Stiles’s top five kisses, then the top tens and twenties, and then Stiles soon stopped thinking about lists and rankings at all as, surprisingly, Derek’s kiss got more assertive after the initial shyness passed, and Stiles found himself pressed up against some kitchen shelves and kissed within an inch of his life.

Stiles had no problem with this, as this put his hands in the perfect position to take hold of that glorious ass, so he did exactly that, and Derek pressed closer still, bringing their lower bodies together. Stiles groaned loudly at the wonderful, welcome friction, and couldn’t quite help the jerk of his hips, seeking more. Derek drew in a sharp inhale and shuddered helplessly, burying his face in Stiles’s neck. Stiles could feel an answering hardness against his thigh.

Stiles seriously considered simply dropping trou and just going at it then and there, to hell with the vibrator. They didn’t even have to undress; some good old frottage there in the middle of Derek’s kitchen sounded extremely appealing right then.

He shifted weight to wrap a leg around Derek’s hip and his elbow knocked into something, making it topple.

“Whoops,” he said, and then jumped as something wet and cold seeped into the back of his shirt. Derek pulled away a little and they both craned their necks to look. One of their forgotten beers lolled on its side, still trickling amber liquid all over the countertop.

Stiles squirmed in his wet shirt and resisted the urge to snicker. Derek bit his lip. Mood broken, they pulled apart. Stiles threw the bottles into the recycle bin while Derek got a dish towel. When the counter was dry and gleaming again and there was nothing else to stall, they exchanged an uncertain look.

Derek cleared his throat. “Uh. You wanna continue this, this _thing_ …somewhere more…comfortable?” His voice had gone raspy and low. It sent a pleasant tingle up Stiles’s spine.

Stiles licked his lips. “Yeah, probably a good idea to get out of here before we break something or get grievously injured.” They shared a quick wry smile, and just like that, the mood went electric once more.

Wordlessly, Stiles shouldered his knapsack and trailed behind Derek out of the kitchen.

*

Derek was wound tight as a bowstring by the time they reached the bedroom, and he began to undress with jerky movements as soon as Stiles pulled the bedroom door shut behind them. Stiles noticed with a start that Derek’s hands were tremoring faintly as he yanked at the neck of his sweater.

“Whoa whoa whoa. Derek. You know we can stop at any time, right?” Stiles looked at Derek’s face when it emerged from the tangle of cashmere, searching for any signs of doubt or second thoughts.

“I know. I don’t want to stop. I want to…try.” Derek looked nervous, but his mouth was set in a stubborn line, and the look in his eyes when their gazes locked momentarily was heated enough to make Stiles’s toes curl. He tossed his sweater toward the ottoman at the end of the bed and moved on to his undershirt.

“Alright. We can do that.” It took a heroic amount of willpower to ignore the riveting sight of Derek’s naked back being uncovered inch by inch—there was a tattoo of a Celtic knot between his shoulders, _holy hotness, Batman_. “Uh. Well. There are a number of ways—you want me to do a demonstration? Or like, a more hand-on approach? I can do whatever. You can call the shots,” Stiles offered.

Derek paused with his hands on the waistband of his loose yoga pants. “Um, I—actually, I’d prefer if you…called the shots.”

“Huh?” Stiles said intelligently, blinking.

“I,” Derek gulped. “I want you to. I trust you.”

Stiles stared, flabbergasted. “You do? But…why?”

“I’ve known you for almost three years now.”

“But…but I’m just your mailman,” Stiles said, nonplussed.

“I…see thing, hear things,” Derek said, hedging, and then sighed. “Well, I used to, uh, watch you.”

“W-watch me?” More owlish blinking.

Derek wrapped his arms around his middle self-consciously. “Sometimes when I have writer’s block, I would sit in the picture window in the living room and watch the street; clears the head, you know. And you’re…fascinating, and,” Derek mumbled the next bit, “I guess nice to look at too.” His cheeks were back to that delectable shade of pink. “I know you know every dog in the neighborhood by name, you help carry groceries, help old Mr. Y with his garbage cans, I’ve seen you help the little girl in number 421 save her cat from the tree at least three times, and you’re always nice to my next-door neighbor even though he’s really weird and sometimes yells at you. So I know you’re a genuinely good person.”

“Okay. Okay. Wow. That’s…kind of creepy, but also the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Stiles said, holding Derek’s gaze. “And Mr. Finstock is a big softy, really. He tells the funniest stories about his coaching days.”

“What I’m trying to say is, I really, really like you too, and…uh…I’d like it if you could, uh…”

“…help you blow your mind with the best bullet vibe ever?” Stiles supplied. Derek snorted, but a dimple appeared in his cheek. Stiles was enamored. “Okay then. I can _definitely_ do that. So. You want help with that?” Stiles eyed the yoga pants hopefully.

*

Had he not been too busy ogling Derek’s sculpted and frankly ridiculous body and _holy crap_ beautiful cock, Stiles would have patted himself on the back for his wise sartorial decision. Getting naked took him all of five seconds, and left him at leisure to “help” Derek peel off his pants and underwear, which had been an enjoyable experience all around.

As it was, he was content to lay back and watch, amused and absently fingering his balls as Derek flexed his washboard abs for him, wriggling and twisting about restlessly beside him on the bed, trying to settle on a good position.

“Would you like me to check under the mattress for stray peas?” Stiles asked conversationally when it looked like Derek had given up on finding a comfortable spot and slumped down with a punch to his pillow.

“Shut up. You’re the one who told me to ‘get comfy. I guess…I guess I’m too used to sleeping in the middle.”

“That’s easy enough.” Stiles scooted obligingly to the edge of the bed and patted the middle of the mattress in invitation. When Derek just stared at him, he sighed and dragged Derek bodily into place, and then swung a leg over to straddle Derek’s massive thighs.

“Comfortable now?” He asked courteously, and then pinched Derek’s left nipple, because it was right there and he could.

“I suppose so.” Derek gasped. He had probably been aiming for petulant but missed by a mile.

“Great! Let’s get a move on.” He reached for the supplies he’d laid out strategically on the bedside table. “You need me to warm you up a little with this first?” He waved the dildo, which jiggled.

Derek grimaced. “Uh, no thanks. For that, I think I prefer the real thing. Go big or go home?” He glanced down at Stiles’s groin and flushed.

Stiles could feel the widening Cheshire grin on his face. “I _see_. I’ll certainly keep that in mind,” he palmed his cock thoughtfully, “but let’s stick to the agenda for now.” He put the dildo away and unsnapped the lube.

Derek went tense again right on cue.

Some sort of diversionary tactic is in order, Stiles decided. He nodded to himself, put the lube back down, nudged Derek’s legs apart and settled down between them, and then, getting a firm grip on the base of Derek’s cock, he ignored Derek’s startled yelp and went to town on Derek’s dick with single-minded focus.

He went hard and fast right from the beginning, suckling the head and tonguing the slit and underside until Derek was rock hard again, and then got a punishing rhythm going. Derek carded shaky fingers through Stiles’s hair, and his thighs spasmed against Stiles’s shoulders with every swipe of Stiles’s tongue. Stiles looked up at his slack-jawed expression—he was certainly not overthinking anything _now_ —and winked.

Stiles adjusted his stance slightly, pulled off just long enough to rasp out, “You might wanna get a better grip,” and draw in a steadying breath, and then he proceeded to swallow Derek to the root, relaxing his throat and letting Derek in deep. He paused there with his nose buried in Derek’s pubes to bask in that heady feeling that always accompanied this, that involuntary sense of helplessness inherent to the act juxtaposed with the paradoxical thrill of power. And then he pulled off, swirled his tongue around Derek like a lollipop, and did it again.

He had about four seconds to relish the high-pitched keening noises that Derek emitted before Derek suddenly gave a full-body spasm and came in a hot, shuddering rush.

Stiles managed to pull off just in time and, coughing a little, watched with smug amusement as Derek stared stunned and unseeing at the ceiling and wheezed as if he’d just ran a marathon.

“Well. That was a bit…premature,” he said when it seemed that Derek had come back to himself a little. “I was looking forward to seeing your o-face, but there’s always next time, I suppose.” He settled next to Derek and rested his chin on Derek’s stomach.

Derek groaned. “Sorry. I— _God_ , I’m so sorry. It’s been…too long,” he eventually managed.

Stiles patted his hip in consolation. “It’s cool, man. I’ll take it as a compliment.”

After a quiet minute during which Stiles played idly with the hairs on Derek’s legs and felt up those truly inspiring thigh muscles, Derek’s breathing started to calm. He traced the pad of a finger softly over Stiles’s lower lip as Stiles nuzzled the side of his hip. “Speaking of compliments,” Derek mused, “You were right; you do have a lovely mouth.”

“That’s serious shit. I don’t lie about serious shit.” Stiles uncurled and winced, rubbing at where Derek had accidentally kicked him in the ribs. Derek looked contrite, but Stiles waved it off and settled back on his haunches. “So, you wanna keep going?”

“Huh?” said Derek, eyes wide, half sitting up.

“What? Did you think I was done with you just like that? Give me a little credit here,” Stiles said with a huff. Derek glanced down again at Stiles’s crotch. “I didn’t mean _that_ , but I’m definitely also up for that if you want a go after.” Stiles smirked at the way Derek’s eyes tracked the motion of his hands as he fondled himself. “What I meant was, I did come all this way with the express purpose of showing you the joys of erotic stimulation via a vibrator, and now that you’re all nice and, uh, _loose_ , we might as well keep going,” Stiles said with a leer. He leaned so he was looming a little over Derek and ran a light finger down Derek’s abdomen, dragged it through the pool of sticky white there, and continued talking, his voice going husky. “I mean, I don’t know about you, but I do love me some post-orgasm prostate stimulation.” Derek’s damp, half hard dick was nestled in the crease of his groin. Stiles trailed his finger deliberately down from the tip to the base. It gave a feeble twitch.

“Uh.” Derek gasped, made as if to recoil toward the headboard, and then subsided again after a moment of stiff tension, his eyes flickering between Stiles’s finger and face.

“You can still say no. Are you saying no?” Stiles slowly traced the finger back up again, rubbing just under the crown.

His chest heaving, Derek lowered his lashes, chewed his lip, then gave a barely discernible shake of his head.

Stiles exhaled quietly and gentled his smile. “Alright then. You’ll like it, I promise.” He crawled up the length of Derek’s body to kiss him slowly and sweetly on the mouth, cradling a stubbly, blushing cheek in one palm. Derek went gratifyingly pliant again, eyes going half-lidded as Stiles let his roaming hand travel its meandering way down Derek’s front in search of all the sensitive places, fondling a nipple, scritching through chest hair, grazing the hard ridges and planes of muscles, dipping briefly into his belly button, and then neatly circumventing his cock to rub between his balls, then behind them, finally circling a finger around his hole.

Derek shuddered slightly and lifted a knee to offer more access. Stiles dipped his finger in dry, just the tip, and they both drew in sharp breaths. Stiles swallowed and leaned their foreheads together. He bent to kiss Derek once more, tenderly, and then shifted his weight to roll off to one side.

“Let’s get you on your side. It’ll be easier for you, and that way I can still see your face.”

With Derek still sluggish from his recent climax and Stiles clumsy with arousal, it was all elbows and knees for a moment until they settled with Derek curled on his left, right knee curled up toward his chest, and Stiles half propped, half draped over him.

Stiles was gentle and thorough as he prepared Derek, taking care not to overstimulate him too much. Derek was pretty tight despite having just come less than fifteen minutes ago, and Stiles tried not to get distracted by the sudden vivid fantasy of pushing Derek face-down into the mattress and slowly immersing himself in that velvet heat, and then fucking Derek hard and rough, pinning him down and nailing him again and again, making him feel it for days afterwards. His cock twitched and drooled against his thigh and he had to give himself a harsh squeeze at the base to stop that train of thought.

With a final push in to make sure the lube was spread out, Stiles withdrew, wiped his finger, and got the toy ready.

He nosed behind Derek’s ear and said in a throaty whisper, “Ready?”

Derek closed his eyes and made the softest sound of acquiescence at the back of his throat. Stiles’s stomach flipped and his heart thudded.

The toy was long but slim and slipped in easily. Derek didn’t make a sound, though his breathing sped up. Stiles rubbed Derek’s neck soothingly, and then he pressed the button.

Derek made a high-pitched sound that was more of a squeal than anything else and went rigid all over, his powerful muscles straining. Stiles dragged the tiny protrusion at the tip of the vibrator slowly across Derek’s inner walls, edging closer to where he knew Derek’s prostate was until Derek yelped and jolted, trying to curl up, and then skirted away again, going back and forth, back and forth, while he took watchful note of every minor spasm of reaction that crossed Derek’s face until Derek seemed to be acclimatizing to the sensations. The tiny furrow between his brows eased slightly, and he started to moan low in his throat, hips flexing in helpless little movements.

“Good?” Stiles asked lowly, nuzzling Derek’s scratchy cheek, letting the toy ease off just a little. After a long few seconds, Derek gave the tiniest nod. “Good,” Stiles crooned, leaned in to land an affectionate peck on his cheek, and then firmed his grip on the base and cord and hit the remote control, switching the vibration intensity up a notch. Derek writhed against the sheets with a desperate, “ah, ah,” and began emitting a stream of high, hoarse little wails. Stiles resumed his slow torture of Derek. Derek’s breathing became labored and he soon started shaking.

Stiles found that he had to struggle to keep his own breathing even. “I can do this all night, you know,” he murmured against Derek’s ear, keeping his hand steady and movement smooth and easy. Derek shuddered, his eyes squeezed shut, and there were beads of sweat gathering in his hairline. He was red-faced and tense, his mouth was hanging open a little, and he was utterly gorgeous.

“Hey. Hey, Derek, look at me,” Stiles said urgently and bit lightly at Derek’s shoulder. He waited until Derek opened his eyes and looked at him hazily to hit the control again and turned on the pulsing.

Stiles could almost feel those deep, irregular, unpredictable pulsations himself—and he knew from personal experience _exactly_ the type of excruciating pleasure they could inflict upon an already overstimulated body. Derek’s eyes widened almost comically before they rolled back a little and, with a keening cry that was half pain, half pleasure, he came almost violently in a tiny, silent explosion of ecstasy.

The room was quiet after, the only sound their two sets of strained breathing. Derek was a sweaty, sticky mess, gone limp as a rag doll under Stiles, almost insensate after the major sensory overload. Under any other circumstances, Stiles definitely would have congratulated himself on a job well done, but he was way too wired to focus much on anything other than his straining, neglected cock.

He swiped at Derek’s stomach with fingers gone numb with lust to gather the sticky mess for some kind of lubrication, and accidentally jostled Derek with his clumsy floundering. With his attention almost wholly devoted to the all-important task of getting off as quickly as possible, he barely noticed as Derek began to regain awareness beneath him.

He was pulling at his cock with feverish need and already half gone when Derek seemed to realize what he was doing and made an unhappy sound. A bit less astute than his usual self, what with most of his blood being down in his nether regions, he was confused for a moment when Derek tried feebly to knock his hands aside and whine in protest at the interruption. He relented when he realized that Derek was trying to give him a helping hand.

The angle was awkward, the movement of Derek’s fingers ungainly and his grip too weak, but all of that hardly mattered. Stiles thrust uncoordinatedly into the warm clasp of Derek’s hands five, six more times, and then the pleasure simmered to a boil and washed through him in an all-consuming tidal wave, and he came with a guttural shout.

Stiles collapsed in an ungraceful heap on the rumpled mess of sheets and watched, bemused, as Derek smothered his own face with a pillow and made an inarticulate noise.

As he caught his breath, Stiles began to discern some garbled words between the groans muffled by the pillow. “Terrible” and “pathetic” seemed to be the gist of it.

“Oh my god, I must be the worst lay ever,” Derek said when Stiles managed to wrestle the pillow from him. His face was pink from either oxygen deprivation or embarrassment.

“Oh, don’t worry, it was a pleasure just to watch you, and I got to see your face the second time,” Stiles consoled. “But do feel free to make it up to me later. In fact, I think I’d like to ride you while that’s in you some time,” Stiles said thoughtfully. “Buuut, we _gotta_ work on your stamina first,” he added, smirking. “Oh, maybe we could get a cock ring, those ones with a slot where you can attach—”

Derek growled in mock outrage and made to lunge at him. Cackling, Stiles ducked the pillow aimed at his head and pounced. After all, Derek’s stamina was not going to build itself.

*

_Three months later_

Stiles hummed under his breath as he pulled his truck into the loading area. It was his last shift before Christmas break, and he looked forward to days spent vegging out in front of the TV and, best of all, cuddling—among other things—with Derek.

Things with Derek were going astonishingly well. Stiles was already half in love with the guy way back before they started fucking, but now that they’d somehow blundered their way into a budding relationship, he was hopelessly gone. Derek was smart and sweet and, once you get past the shyness, surprisingly funny. They’d spent the three months fucking in every imaginable position, and probably inventing quite a few new ones. He had managed the impossible and fucked some of Derek’s shyness out of him. Derek was now comfortable initiating sex and could even talk about what he wanted without blushing (much). Stiles was determined to keep working at it until Derek was as brazen about sex as himself.

He now spent half his nights at Derek’s place and had already shamelessly commandeered two whole drawers in Derek’s closet and most of Derek’s kitchen, and had all but taken over Derek’s entertainment center. He planned to continue sneaking his things over until Derek got the hint. Or perhaps Derek’s family would clue him in, Stiles supposed.

Stiles had already had a brief and amiable chat with Derek’s mother Talia on the phone, and amongst all the bland pleasantries he somehow got the feeling that she was _not_ a woman to cross. He’d also been interrogated over FaceTime by all three of Derek’s sisters—Laura, Cora, and step-sister Erica, who were all gorgeous and, as Derek promised, truly terrifying—and received some impressively graphic and imaginative threats from each. Laura and Erica had been making noise about dropping by for a visit for New Year’s, and Stiles was half tempted to invent some excuse to be out of town for the Hale invasion and Spanish Inquisition that would inevitably follow.

He got a fear-boner of epic proportions every time he thought about eventually introducing Lydia and Allison to the Hale clan.

He giggled nervously as he pictured the carnage that would surely result from such a meeting and started methodically sorting through his workload. He paused when he spotted a parcel in familiar nondescript off-white packaging in his lot. He picked it up on a hunch, some odd sense of anticipation making his heart begin to pound.

**_“Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski  
424 Forest Dr.,”_ **

proclaimed the discreet little label.

Stiles was instantly assaulted by a barrage of mental images: Derek, naked and waiting for him; the glint in Derek’s eyes, the one that usually meant that Stiles was going to get exceptionally well laid within the next hour; Derek with his face slack with pleasure, eyes dark with desire; the tiny crinkles at the corners of Derek’s eyes as he smiled just for Stiles; Derek laughing and deftly evading Stiles’s attempts to steal back his favorite sweater, which Derek still hadn’t given back yet.

He realized that he was grinning absently down at a parcel in the loading bay at work and shook his head to clear it.

“Merry Christmas to me,” Stiles half sang under his breath and ran a finger over the little address tag, already counting down the minutes.

**Author's Note:**

> In addition to the unspecified sex toy (my poor brain has thrown in the towel so feel free to imagine whatever) and an absurd amount of athletic sex, Stiles receives a hand-knitted scarf from Derek for Christmas. Despite how it started to unravel after just one week of wear, Stiles adamantly refuses to take it off or give it back so Derek can knit him a new one.
> 
> (Derek eventually makes another attempt at a sweater, but it...does not end well. He keeps trying.)
> 
> *
> 
> This was finished literally at the last minute--many thanks to the ESSS17 mod for putting up with me and all my untimely delays. I also owe a lot to my friends Luce, Joy, & Jennifer, who held my hand, offered advice, helped me research sex toys, and endured my neurotic messages at all hours. Oh yeah, and also speed-beta'ed this li'l monster and told me it didn't suck. I honestly couldn't have done it without you guys!
> 
> I handwaved a lot of the details regarding how postal delivery work, and with the vibrator. Having never used a vibrator myself, all I had to go on were research, input from friends, and liberal application of imagination. I apologize if there are any gross inaccuracies, and please let me know if you see anything I should fix!
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> (OMG you guys!!! I am so, so happy I actually managed to complete a fic after all these years!!!!!!)


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